Mercer's Belles

by Heather B. Moore

  “Is what true, Miss Barlow?” he asked gently. He grabbed the chair from the small desk and sat at the end of the bed.

  “Was Kinny drinking?”

  “Yes. More than his share, I’m afraid.”

  “So he didn’t leap from the railing, calling out my name?”

  Albert flinched. “Of course not. He was drunk. We think he fell when the ship took a rough wave.”

  Miss Barlow’s whole body collapsed forward. She let out a rush of air.

  Albert asked, “Is that what Mercer told you?”

  “Yes. He said Kinny jumped because I’d played with his feelings. I didn’t mean to—I was just having fun. I didn’t think . . . I never thought . . .” Her face started to crumble.

  Albert leaned forward. “Miss Barlow, this is not your fault. Mercer has some strange ideas about directing you women and your behaviors. My professional advice: ignore him.”

  A hesitant smile lifted the woman’s swollen cheeks. But it fell just as quickly as it came. “Kinny was a sweet boy. I still feel awful.”

  “We all feel awful; it’s a tragedy. But it’s not made better by dramatic displays. So are you quite finished?”

  Miss Barlow straightened her back, folded her hands in her lap. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now I suggest you get some rest. Tomorrow perhaps you’ll play a few songs in honor of Mr. Foster?”

  “Yes, I would love to.”

  Albert nodded, stood up. “If you need anything else, please come to the medical rooms.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Cunningham.”

  “You’re welcome.” He opened the door. “Good night.”

  In the hall, Albert found Dr. Barnard hurrying toward him and felt his own exhaustion deepen. Dr. Barnard said, “Is the girl all right?”

  “Yes, fine.”

  “Good. Come with me. We’ve got a few men with a touch of frostbite from searching out on those freezing waters.” The older doctor started off toward the medical rooms. Albert allowed himself a single glance toward the saloon, a single moment of wanting to find Cora, before he focused his attention on the tasks ahead.

  Pearl lay on her side, gripping her belly and rocking slightly. Her eyes pinched tightly closed. Cora knelt by the bed, tugging off her coat to start rolling up her sleeves. “Pearl, dear, tell me what’s wrong.” She touched Pearl’s forehead, cold and clammy. “Pearl?”

  “It hurts,” she managed to squeeze out through her teeth.

  Please don’t be birthing pains. It’s too soon.

  “What hurts?”

  “My belly. And I’ve got a raging headache.”

  Cora held back a frown. “All right. Let’s figure this out. I’m here to help.” She stroked Pearl’s pumpkin hair back from her face as she spoke. “When did the pain start?”

  “An hour or so,” Pearl grimaced. “But my head’s been poorly all day.”

  Cora helped the young mother-to-be roll onto her back. She held Pearl’s wrist to check her pulse: a bit too fast.

  “Her feet are all swollen, Mrs. Martin,” Sally said, hovering over Cora’s shoulder.

  “When did the swelling start?” Cora felt Pearl’s belly, relieved when the child gave a few annoyed kicks in response to her pressure.

  “I noticed it this afternoon. Not sure when it started exactly.”

  “How often are the pains in your belly, Pearl? Regular or come and go?”

  “They come and go.”

  This time Cora did frown. She leaned closer to Pearl. “I need to check under your nightdress, Pearl. Do you understand?”

  Pearl had relaxed a bit but was still pale with worry. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Cora quickly checked for bleeding and any signs of active labor. She didn’t see anything that alarmed her, though there was a bit of thinning of the barrier to the womb. She lowered the nightdress back into place and sat beside Pearl. She wiped her hands on a towel Sally handed her. “In the final months, the body practices for labor. So it’s natural to have birthing pains that come and go. They aren’t dangerous. It’s just your body getting ready.”

  “The baby’s not coming right now?” Pearl asked, voice wavering.

  Cora didn’t have an answer. So she asked, “Have you vomited?”

  “No, ma’am, but my stomach is a bit uneasy. I thought it was from the pains.”

  “Perhaps, yes. But I’m a little concerned about your headache and ankles.” Cora pressed her finger into Pearl’s ankle, a shallow dimple remaining for a few seconds. Not good. Not good. “Do the pains cause your stomach to tighten and then release?”

  “Yes! It’s so strange. But that’s just . . . practice?”

  “If they aren’t regular and strong, then usually. But it may also be early labor. We need to watch you very closely.”

  Pearl caught her bottom lip in her teeth, eyes going watery. “I’m sorry. I’ve been careful. Doing everything you said—”

  “Oh! No, no. You haven’t done anything wrong, Pearl. You’ve done a wonderful job. The last month is always a bit precarious, and I’m only being cautious. All right?”

  “Yes, all right.” Pearl nodded, eyes still tight with anxiety. She looked past Cora to her sister, who hurried over to the bed to take Pearl’s outstretched hand.

  Cora stood. “Let’s start with your poor ankles.” She gathered a blanket and pillow and propped them under Pearl’s feet. Then Cora adjusted another pillow under her patient’s head. “I’m going to make you a special tea. Some ginger powder to help your circulation and some willow bark to help ease your pains. I have everything I need in my kit.” Cora moved to the door. “I’ll fetch it and be right back. After you’ve drunk the tea, I want you both to rest. I’ll sit with you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Martin,” the sisters said in unison, and then they laughed quietly. Tension evident in the edges of the sound.

  “Of course. I’ll return as quickly as I can.”

  Cora rushed down the hall, concern coursing through her. She’d seen these symptoms before, and it would likely make Pearl’s delivery come early and hard.

  Please let her and the baby survive. Please help me do everything right for them.

  Hastily, Cora retrieved her small brown leather valise from her room and went to the kitchen. The galley was empty, much to her relief. She started the kettle to boil and found a mug. A few minutes later, as she was steeping the tea, footsteps sounded in the hall. She looked up, unsure what would happen if anyone caught her making a simple cup of tea. She set her eyes on the door.

  Please don’t come in here.

  The door pushed open, and she straightened. “Albert?”

  He startled and stopped just inside the door. “Cora? What are you doing?” He was down to just his white shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose thick forearms. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and Cora’s eyes went to the smooth skin of his chest. Heat flooded her body as she imagined unbuttoning the rest and pushing the shirt away.

  Shame on you, Cora Martin.

  Not once had she had such a brazen thought about Thomas—or any man, for that matter.

  Thomas was the wrong man. Albert is the right man.

  The thought shook the walls she’d placed around her heart and challenged the belief that she was incapable of love. Standing in the night-quiet galley, Cora felt something significant shift inside her. Without realizing it, she’d allowed herself to fall in love with Albert Cunningham. She cleared her throat, begged her face to cool. “Just making a cup of tea,” she answered. Not a lie. “Something to help me sleep.” Definitely a lie. Albert moved forward, coming into the light of the flickering lanterns hung along the wall. Stress had etched deep lines between his eyebrows. Cora’s gut twisted. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded slowly, sniffed the air. “A few of the rescue crew have mild frostbite. Dr. Barnard has disappeared—again. So I came to get some hot water myself.”

  “Can I help?” The words came automatically, before Cora remembered that, no, she could not
assist with official ship medical problems. “At least, help boil the water, that is.”

  Albert looked from her to the cup again. “Are you in pain, Cora?”

  Cora pressed her teeth together. “No, of course not.”

  “Ginger and willow are for pain. Chamomile and lavender are for sleep. You’re brewing the wrong tea.”

  Cora winced, holding back a sigh. Part of her admired his knowledge, and part of her hated that he was so perceptive. She considered her next words carefully. Albert took another step forward, waiting. Cora said, “That woman, from before, her sister is having . . . womanly pains. Her monthlies cause her a great deal of trouble. The tea will help.”

  He kept his gaze on her face. “And that is all?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  His gaze shifted to her open valise. After a tense pause, he said, “Because if there is a serious medical problem, I hope you’d tell me. It would only be right, after all. Ship’s doctor should know these things. And this ship’s doctor would help, no matter what.”

  Cora kept any reaction from her face, and nodded. “Of course.” She wanted so badly to tell him the truth. The slime of lying to Albert coated her throat. But the risk to all involved was too great. Not yet, Albert. Soon you’ll know I’m lying. But not until that baby cries for the first time. Then if I’m kicked off the ship, left in Brazil, so be it. At least I’ll know Pearl’s baby was brought safely into the world.

  Albert kept looking at her, and Cora felt he could read her thoughts. She busied herself with the tea and with closing her suspect midwife bag. “Do you need any assistance with the hot water?” she asked, voice smooth.

  “No, thank you. I’ll manage.” His voice matched hers, chill for chill. “I hope your patient recovers soon.”

  Cora nodded once, swallowed down her thick throat. “Thank you. Yours too. Good night, Dr. Cunningham.” She hated how formal, how cold it sounded.

  “Good night, Mrs. Martin.”

  The sound of her full name cut a chasm in her heart. Did his voice sound dejected, or was she simply reflecting her feelings onto him? Cora forced herself not to look up as she walked toward him to get to the door. His hand lifted to circle her wrist—the wrist of the hand holding her bag. She nearly gasped at the shock of pleasure his touch sent rocketing up her arm. He looked at the bag and then held her eyes. She forced herself to stare back.

  After a moment, he said quietly, “If things go badly, Cora, come get me. Please. We’ll figure it out.”

  The soft, genuine kindness in the words made her knees go weak. A flash of inexplicable tears misted her eyes. Had anyone ever looked at her that way? Offered help without an underlying demand? Allowed her to decide what was best without forcing their rules on her?

  “Thank you, Albert,” she whispered, her shock preventing any more words.

  His head lowered a fraction, leaning so near hers. His gaze moved to her lips and back. She mirrored his action and looked at his tender lips, desire building in her so swiftly a gasp escaped her throat. The teacup faltered in her other hand, nearly forgotten. A splash of hot liquid on her skin pulled her back to reality.

  Cora moved away from Albert, her arm slipping from his grip. Part of her wished he’d refused to let her go until he’d satisfied this furious craving heating her blood. The quickness of his breath, the fervor in his gray eyes suggested he was considering it.

  Cora faltered, almost dropped the cup and valise to rush into Albert’s arms.

  But then he stepped to the door, opened it. Eyes on the floor, he waited for her to leave.

  Cora fled into the safety of the hall, allowing a few tears free at the sound of the door closing behind her.

  Albert stood behind the galley door, palms pressed to either side of it and head dropped between his shoulders. He dragged in slow, measured breaths, willing his body to forget the flame he’d seen in Cora’s eyes. He’d almost lost control, almost anchored his arms around her slim waist and let loose his craving to kiss her with wild abandon. But he knew if he kissed Cora Martin, the ground beneath all his well-made plans would crumble away to dust, leaving him free-falling. But he badly wanted to explore the passion brewing between them.

  She has addled my brain. Think clearly. Think rationally.

  But all Albert could think about was the cool silk of her wrist against his palm.

  With a loud groan, he pushed away from the wall. He had to get that hot water to the waiting patients. He refilled the kettle, working to calm his thoughts. Some logic finally broke through his lust.

  There’s a pregnant woman on board.

  He felt certain that was Cora’s secret. He’d recognized the midwife tools in her bag. Of course, he might be wrong. She’d needed the herbs from the bag, perhaps nothing more than that. But his well-trained instincts, that slight hesitation in Cora’s tone, and the look on that younger woman’s face when she came rushing into the saloon told him it was not a simple case of painful monthlies.

  But how could there be a pregnant woman on board?

  “What would Mercer say to that?” Albert whispered to the empty kitchen. He sighed heavily. The kettle whistled, and the shrill tone of it helped urge him into quick action. There were men in pain waiting for him. No more time for his carousel of thoughts.

  Pearl slept fitfully for a couple hours before she woke with a loud groan. Alert, Cora saw the young woman’s stomach tighten. “It’s all right, Pearl,” she soothed. “Take slow breaths.” Cora dove a hand into her bag and pulled out an old pocket watch. Fourteen minutes past midnight.

  Pearl gasped. “It’s passing. That one was different.” She looked across the murky darkness at Cora, the whites of her eyes visible with her shock.

  Cora took a steadying breath. This is it. It’s starting. She smiled at the mother-to-be. “It’s starting, Pearl.”

  Sally groaned from the floor, where she’d curled onto a blanket to try to sleep. “What’s wrong?” she murmured.

  “The baby’s coming,” Pearl said, the tone of her voice part awe, part terror.

  Sally sat bolt up, her gaze going from her sister to Cora. “Will she be all right?”

  “I’ll do everything I can.” She turned back to her patient. “I want you to relax as much as you can between pains. You’ll need all the strength you can find. Here . . . take some water and then lie back.” Cora helped Pearl drink.

  Pearl swallowed loudly. “Will it hurt terribly?”

  Cora didn’t believe in lying to her patients. “Yes, dear, but your body was made for this. It’s strong and amazing, and it knows what to do.”

  Pearl nodded, considering. “Do you have children, Cora?”

  “No, I don’t. My husband and I never became pregnant, and then he died in the war.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Pearl whispered.

  Sally added, a mischievous glint in her tone, “You should marry that handsome doctor you were with earlier tonight and have lots of beautiful, tall children.”

  Cora rounded on her, surprised. “Sally!”

  She laughed, relieving some of the tension in the room. “Come now, Cora, I saw the way he looked at you and the way he looked.” She lifted her eyebrows, challenging Cora to refute it.

  Of course, she couldn’t. A flutter in her stomach pushed a smile to her lips. The sisters laughed again. “See that, there!” Sally pointed at her. “You know exactly what I mean.”

  “Who are you talking about?” Pearl asked. “Tell me! I’ve been stuck in here the whole journey.”

  Sally grinned. “Dr. Cunningham, one of the doctors on board. The young, handsome one, not the old, stuffy one. He looks like those Greek heroes Mama used to tell stories about—so tall and so strong. I think every girl on board is secretly in love with him.”

  Cora felt a twist of jealousy. “Good grief, Sally. Don’t be so silly. Dr. Cunningham is a nice man and an excellent surgeon.”

  Sally snorted. “A nice man! That’s all you can say?”

  Pearl hissed in a br
eath, the next pain saving Cora from the awkward conversation. She looked at her watch. “Five minutes apart. A good start. Take deep breaths, Pearl. I’m here. Sally is here. We’ll do this together.” Cora turned to Sally. “Do you have the clean sheets and water basins we talked about?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Everything is there under the desk. And we already knitted a few blankets and booties for the baby.” Sally’s blue eyes went wide. “I can’t believe it’s happening.” She crawled across the floor to sit at her sister’s side. They exchanged a loving expression, no words necessary. Cora marveled at their closeness. She’d never known that depth of connection. Her heart ached to experience it, that same ache that had lived inside her as long as she could remember.

  Is Albert the cure for this ache? Could he be . . . the one?

  Cora frowned. Did she even believe such things? Wasn’t marriage more about survival and mutual support rather than passion and fulfillment?

  “Cora!”

  Cora jerked her wandering mind back to attention. “What, Pearl?”

  Pearl’s cheeks had flushed red. “I . . . uh . . . I think I wet myself.” She caught her bottom lip in her teeth.

  “No, dear. That’s probably your waters.” Cora stood to do a quick check. “Yes. Your waters, for sure. Another sign that the baby is on the way.”

  Pearl groaned with another pain. “It’s worse,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “They grow more powerful as you progress.” She turned to Sally. “Run to the kitchen for some hot water. We need to clean up and ready everything.”

  Sally nodded and bolted out of the door.

  Cora leaned down and put a hand on Pearl’s sweaty forehead. “You’re going to do wonderfully. And soon you’ll meet your little one.”

  “What’s wrong? I know something’s wrong!” Pearl cried. She rolled onto her side, her hand coming to her lower back. “It hurts so much.”

  Cora rubbed at her forehead, thinking. Pearl’s labor had been strong for the first four hours, her body progressing quickly. But during the last three hours things had suddenly come to a halt, the pain in her back worsening significantly. “Pearl, I need to check the baby’s position.” Pearl rolled back onto her back and opened her legs, all modesty forgotten. Cora reached into the birth canal. Oh no. Just as I thought. “The baby is positioned face up.”